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by FirepoweredTulip



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Gen, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-17 07:27:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1379101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FirepoweredTulip/pseuds/FirepoweredTulip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Russia breaks down. And Prussia doesn't feel a thing.</p>
<p>Set just before the end of the Soviet Union. Features a tiny bit of abusive!Russia.</p>
            </blockquote>





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**Author's Note:**

> A disclaimer saying that this may not be 100% historically accurate. It's just a story that came to mind and I wrote it. Also, I'm sorry if it's not the best. When I get part way through a fic like this, I tend to question the quality and scrap it part way through. This was an attempt at getting over the hump.

He was drunk. Completely fucking inebriated.

 

                I said nothing as I watched him struggle to push himself up from the table. Through my one good eye – the other was nearly swollen completely shut from a recent black eye – I watched him slip and fall forward. The vodka bottle he had been nursing got knocked over in the process. It rolled, sloshing the remains of the bottle all over the table. Finally, the bottle rolled off the table and landed on the cold, wooden floor and shattered. While I was aware of a few shards hitting my pant leg, but that was about it.

 

                After all, I could not really feel much of anything anymore.

 

                He paused, staring at the mess he made.  He looked upset; but I supposed that it was just the fact that he had spilt his drink all over the place. Vodka was expensive, after all. “Gilbert,” he slurred out, his stupid accent thick with his drunkenness. Although I myself had been as drunk as him on many occasions, I could not help but feel absolutely disgusted.

 

                Noticing that I hadn’t replied to him yet, he spoke again. This time, his voice was more stern. The drunken bastard was trying to sound intimidating. “Gilbert. Clean it up.” Hah. The tough talk probably would have scared those shivering idiots, but not me. I didn’t care.

 

                “….No.”

 

                My response confused him. His eyebrows furrowed in thought, followed by a very slight cocking of his head. He stood up again; this time more carefully, and made his way over to me. His steps were slightly steadier than I thought they would be.

 

                “I am sorry. I think I misheard you.” He spoke slowly, most likely trying to keep himself from stumbling over his words. “You did not refuse to clean up this mess?”

 

                I glared at him. “Yes, I did.”

               

                CRACK!

 

                The next thing I knew I was on the floor. Warmth ran down my face and down my throat. Blood. What I did not swallow dripped down onto the worn wood beneath me. I could feel that much, I could taste the metallic flavour as some trickled back into my mouth, but I felt no pain. I was too numb to.

 

                “Now you can clean that up, too.” He smiled down at me, snatching up a dirty rag from the table and chucked it down at me. I could only glare at him while wiping the droplets off the floor. The blood that was on my face, however, I wiped on the back of my hand. Once I was finished, he urged me again, “Now the rest, Gilbert.” This time, I complied…if only because I did not want him hitting me again.

 

                As I gathered up the shards of glass from the floor, he returned to his spot at the table. The silence, blissfully, stretched on. I had just finished gathering up the pieces of the broken  bottle when he finally spoke again. “Would you stay with me?”

 

                I stared at him, not understanding what exactly what he meant. “You are drunk,” I muttered dismissively. I took the bloodstained, filthy rag to clean up the spilt vodka.  There was nothing else to clean with, after all. And it wasn’t like the table had not seen worse, anyway.

 

                “Maybe. But I am not stupid, either,” he replied. As he spoke, he stood up as well.  “Everyone will be leaving soon. My friends…my family…they will all leave soon. My beautiful Union will go away...and I will be all on my own.” With every word he moved closer to me. At last, he got closer to grab onto my shirt.  “Please, please!  Stay with me!”

 

                There were still no words I could stay. Instead, I just watched him burst into a fit of drunken tears. He gripped onto me like a small child holding onto their parent.  It would almost be endearing…if it weren’t for the fact that he towered over me. This changed, however, when he stared down at me – desperate for a reaction. Finally, I  shook my head, mouthing the word “no.” This was all he needed. His face scrunched up into a disgusting expression as he tried, and failed to hold back his tears. He kept his grip on my shirt, even as he slumped down to his knees and wailed.  And all I did was watch the man who had tormented me for years break down like a young toddler.

 

                Despite all that, I did not, and could not feel a thing.


End file.
